


Lineage

by TokuTenshi



Series: Of Things Not Seen [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adding warning because i was asked to, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Fertility Issues, Infidelity, King Alistair, Manipulation, Queen Cousland, Rape/Non-con Elements, alistair appreciation week 2018, not graphic though, sneaky eamon is sneaky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 05:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14687328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokuTenshi/pseuds/TokuTenshi
Summary: (written for Alistair Appreciation week 2018, days 2-4)Alistair tries to cope with the absence of his wife as Eamon takes matters into his own hands to secure the future of Ferelden.





	Lineage

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first bit of writing I've done all year and maaaaaaan, I can not tell if its good or not. When I told my idea to my beta, she noped at me so hard and it took a lot of convincing to bring her around. I hope at least some people enjoyed this unintentional soap opera ^_^;

She had promised to stay by his side, and for those first few months, that’s exactly what Kaedence had done and they were happy. When rumors started coming in that Morrigan was sighted – possibly with child – Alistair understood her need to look into it. When the Grey Wardens were finally establishing a proper presence in Ferelden and were ready for their commander to take the reigns both over the group and the alring itself, Alistair understood their need for her. They had discussed it before she left, weighing the pros and cons before ultimately deciding it would be better for Kaedence to lead instead of an Orlesian they knew nothing about commanding a military force and making political decisions in the still recovering country.

Over all, it hadn't taken long for Kaedence to find and speak with Morrigan and Amaranthine hadn't been far from Denerim – their parting, though difficult for both of them and far too soon into the 'newly wed phase' for either to be happy, was doable. They wrote letters nearly every day and the time apart made their reunions all the sweeter and finally, _finally_ , things started to calm down for the royal couple.

Kaedence was immensely helpful with the day-to-day tediousness of ruling that Alistair had never been groomed for, using both her own upbringing as a teyrn's daughter and the skills she'd honed being arlessa in Amaranthine. Eamon was always close by to offer suggestions or assistance during the awkward transition from nobody to king, but for any instance that his wife and sort-of-uncle disagreed, Alistair sided with the woman who had saved his life more times than he could count. That is to say that she'd done it a lot, not that he couldn't count very high.

 

Years passed and though they were happy and in love, gossip began to move through the court that it was all an act, some ploy by the Grey Wardens to quietly take over the nation. Kaedence brushed off the accusations at first, but as more people chimed in with 'evidence' to support the claim, she couldn't help but feel affected by it.

_If they are truly as in love as they pretend to be, then why do they have no children?  
_ Alistair had told her after that fateful Landsmeet where they'd taken down the Mac Tirs that the taint in their blood made it difficult for one warden to have a child and two wardens conceiving was just unheard of – perhaps even impossible. At the time, Kaedence didn't care. All she wanted was the rightful person watching over her homeland and to be at his side while he did it and that was the end of that. Until it wasn't. Kaedence saw every healer and apothecary she could find, hoping there was something mundane wrong with her that they could correct, but each time she returned with no answers and more burdens.

The researching she'd been doing in her down time on trying to find a cure for the taint increased to the point of obsession. Where as before the queen would send vague inquiries to renowned healers and alchemists, claiming it was for treating her recovering country from Blight Sickness, she now sent vassals to personally inspect even the faintest glimmer of hope for a cure. She wrote to Enchanter Fiona, a former Grey Warden who had been miraculously cured of the taint and left the order, but never got any responses.

Her dedication was simultaneously concerning and heartwarming, as Alistair knew she was doing it for the both of them. Without the taint, they could have more time together – an actual life – and they could have children of their own – a full life. As much as he wanted those things too, he'd much rather have his wife in the present with him. Kaedence began to suffer nightmares but wouldn't speak of them and all Alistair could do was cradle his wife as she mumbled her failures as a woman and cried in her sleep. He tried to convince her it would be alright, tried to appeal to her reasonable side that if there was a cure out there, then it would have been found at some point over the centuries. He tried to make her smile and laugh, but Kaedence seemed to have lost the ability to do either some time ago.

It was a pleasant surprise then when Kaedence joined Alistair for the mid-day meal with a radiant expression on her face. She stayed by his side through meetings and audiences, displaying a level of open affection that brought her to the very brink of improper and made the king blush or stutter more than once. When night fell and the couple retired for the evening, neither hesitated before falling into each others embrace and falling into bed. They made love like their first time – needy and desperate – then slowed to gentle kisses and explorative caresses, mapping one another out all over again. There was no sense of urgency, no pressing matters of state, no rumors or ridicule or Maker-forsaken ridiculous notions of inadequacy for either of them. They were, in each others eyes, perfect.

–

“The bannorn has been slow to recover from the Blight and much of the once fertile farmland is still poisoned by the darkspawn's, though long absent, presence.”

Alistair slouched forward in his throne, chin resting in his hand as he listened to what felt like the fiftieth issue that day.

“While the harvest yield has been on a slight incline, with the return of many Fereldan citizens and new ones being born each season, we will soon be unable to provide for their needs.”

That was a familiar sounding problem by now. As the country recovered and tried to get back on its feet, those who had fled to avoid the darkspawn were coming back home and finding it wasn't exactly as they remembered it. Of course it wasn't – there had been a blasted blight AND the beginnings of a civil war. They should all feel lucky the nation hadn't imploded on itself long ago.

“Ferelden is already at its limit of what it can import from the Free Marches,” Eamon added quietly at the king's side, just in case he couldn't recall the budgeting meeting from the week before.

“And so you see, my lord, White River simply _must_ extend its boundaries eastward into the Brecilian Forest.”

At that, Alistair finally lifted his eyes to meet the ambassador's. “That forest is ancient and angry. Tending farmsteads there would be difficult, not to mention the inherit dangers of clearing the trees. There are some pretty feisty beings living there.”

The representative dipped his head respectfully. “Yes, Your Majesty, the Dalish, of course.”

“Actually, I was talking about the walking trees.”

A nervous laugh escaped the minor noble, but he tried his best to mask it. “It would seem Bann Reginalda's request for military support from the crown is all the more vital, my lord.”

Alistair sighed heavily and leaned back in his throne, dropping his hand to plop flat against the armrest. “Right, because what Ferelden really needs to help it recover is a military strike against the Dalish so we can kick them out of one of the last places they hold precious. That's a brilliant idea.”

His tired sarcasm did not go unnoticed by Eamon and the advisor tempered his expression and response to keep from publicly chastising the ruler. “The Brecilian Forest _is_ in Ferelden, Your Majesty. The Dalish rarely camp on the outskirts, so is there any true harm in farming underutilized land belonging to our nation?”

The king shot a mild glare at the older politician before rising from his seat with another sigh. “Send a few diplomats to meet with the Dalish clan and have them explain our situation.”

“Would not an armed regiment be far more successful?”

“In starting a fight? Oh, definitely.” Alistair frowned heavily, looking directly at Eamon as he addressed the room. “We can at least be smart enough to _attempt_ negotiations before we start hitting things, can't we?” He followed his rhetorical question with silence, letting everyone know his decision had been made. “That will be all for today.”

The room quickly emptied, but Alistair held Eamon in place with his gaze. When they were finally alone, he let out a tired groan and leaned away, breaking eye contact and the tension between them. “Did you really have to criticize me in front of everyone like that?”

“I wasn't criticizing, I was advising,” Eamon responded with a slight, sympathetic smile. Despite the years of ruling now under his belt, the king was still unused to the long days. “Frankly, I'm rather impressed you decided to go the diplomatic route.”

Alistair chuckled and scratched at his chin. “Yes, well, it only takes getting your butt kicked by a plant once to make you take nature just a bit more seriously.”

“I dare say you are finally maturing,” Eamon continued cautiously, “perhaps taking future generations of Fereldan's into account?”

“Well wouldn't that make your job easi-” Alistair stopped abruptly, catching on to what was really being said. He switched from lighthearted to deadly serious in a flash. “No.”

“ _Alistair._ ”

“Eamon, no. We are _not_ talking about this again.” The king began moving towards the hall to the living quarters, anger keeping his back straight and shoulders squared.

“According to your own words, you will not be ruling into old age.” Eamon followed close behind, keeping his voice low to prevent the shadows from hearing. “You _need_ an heir.”

“Sure, fine. You want the job?”

The older man reached out and grabbed Alistair's arm, forcing him to stop. “This is serious. The heir must be of Calenhad's blood – _your_ blood. Even a named successor could be challenged and Ferelden would find itself on the brink of civil war once again in a matter of decades.”

“What you are suggesting wouldn't even work, Eamon!” Alistair turned to face the man, tearing his arm free. “Grey Wardens can't have children – the taint prevents it.”

“Which may have only been the case because you are both inflicted! There are methods and remedies you have tried already that may yet be effective with a different partner.” Eamon looked around once again to ensure they were truly alone. “If you were to take a concubine-”

The fist was flying before either man registered it, Alistair only able to stop his punch mere inches from the wrinkled face. He retracted his hand and uncurled his fingers, using a level of self-control that, on any other day, Eamon would have been impressed by. Alistair took several calming breaths before speaking, irritated by and tired of having the same idea thrown at him again and again. “If an heir is really so important, shouldn't it be a true heir? When Kaedence comes back with the cure, we will try again.”

Eamon shook his head and sighed soundlessly. “It has been many years since your wife left your side with nothing but a note on your pillow. She writes you letters, but tells you nothing of progress because her search is hopeless.”

“When Kaedence comes back-”

“She is _not_ coming back!” Eamon snapped, louder than he intended. The older man tried to soften his expression and convey the importance of his words. “Alistair, you _must_ produce an heir.”

The quiet of the hall was deafening, the king's expression difficult to read as he traced the grout lines in the cobbled floor with his eyes. Without looking up, he turned around and continued his lonely walk to his cold bed chambers. “When my wife is once again at my side, we will try again.”

 

\-------------------------------  
  


Alistair turned away from the bright shaft of morning light hitting his face through the crack in the curtains, extending an arm out to grasp at the figure beside him so he might fight off the day a moment longer. His hand found only cold, flat bedding and the lack of his partner or any evidence of her presence at all had him groaning in familiar disappointment. He had dreamed of her return again, of her slipping into the room after it fell dark to join him in bed, and of the absolute joy he found in her arms.

She never spoke, never kissed him, and Alistair began to worry that the reason he dreamed of such a carnal, physical reunion was because he could no longer remember what she sounded or tasted like. A voice in the back of his mind – that was sounding more and more like Eamon with each repetition of the dream – whispered that his body simply craved the sensations he was denying it by staying faithful to his wife. Alistair shook off the notion each time it tried to worm its way into his thoughts, because he had fallen in love with Kaedence long before they became physically intimate. It was her character, her strong will and determination, her sense of duty and sense of humor that drew her to him and those were the things he truly missed.

Alistair had this particular dream about once a month recently and as much as he enjoyed them in his sleep, the emptiness he felt the following morning crushed his spirits and soured him for the entire day. It reminded him too much of when Kaedence left on her quest without discussing it. Alistair supposed he should have realized something was going on from how she doted on him and touched him everywhere the night before she left, but he was too elated to have his wife in the present with him to think any more of it. When he rolled over in the morning to hold her naked body against his own and was met with nothing but a crisp note on the sheets written in her hand, he felt like the fool Morrigan always suspected him to be.

To have a night of warmth and passion followed by a morning of cold and shame was certainly something he never wanted to repeat, but seemed to be doomed to do so until Kaedence really, truly, returned.

–  
Teagan followed the servant through the familiar halls of his brother's Denerim estate, despite not needing any guidance as he had visited on many occasions, even before Eamon left the arling of Redcliffe in his hands and moved to the capital full-time. It was no surprise when his baggage was waiting for him in the guest chambers, knowing full well that while the elf lead him at a leisurely pace to the room, others had hurried through the tighter servant passageways to deposit the items.

“Thank you, Tavin,” Teagan said with a slight nod of his head. “Please inform my brother that I will be with him shortly for a proper greeting.”

The elf furrowed his brow slightly, but kept the confusion from his voice. “My Lord is not home, at present. I can inform the Lady Isolde, if you like.”

Teagan nodded again, excusing the other man and moving through the sitting area into the bed chamber to freshen up from the journey. He barely registered the door clicking closed behind him as the invitation ran through his mind. It was certainly from Eamon, though not written in his hand. That was nothing new or strange, as the brothers have dictated many letters in the past. Still, the scrawling script had looked rather familiar.

He'd only just changed from his traveling clothes when the door swung open with no warning. Teagan turned sharply to the disruption, fingers frozen over his shirt mid-fastening. The moment he saw the intruder through the second doorway, he calmed, but grew more confused. “Isolde?”

The woman closed the main door and paced over the area rug, eager to say what was on her mind, but having enough sense and decorum to wait for Teagan to join her in the more common space. He rushed through the final closures on his shirt and ignored the doublet for the time being, knowing that while he was not dressed properly enough for a formal audience, he was covered sufficiently to talk with his sister-in-law.

“Teagan,” Isolde began the moment he stepped into the sitting area, Orlesian accent deepened by the obvious worry in her voice and on her face.

“Has something happened?”

She brought her manicured fingers to her lips and looked away briefly. “I fear there may be, but I am uncertain. I've suspected for sometime, but...”

Teagan sat on one of the couches, motioning for Isolde to do the same in hopes it would calm her, but she continued to pace. “Does this have something to do with Eamon?”

Isolde froze at the name and the fingers that had been so tentatively perched on the edge of her mouth flew up to her eyes to shield the sight of her forming tears. “I fear he has taken a mistress and will soon leave me,” she gasped out around a muted sob.

“What?!” Teagan jumped to his feet, unable to sit still after hearing such a claim. “Eamon loves you, stood by you when it would have been so easy to shun you. Isolde, what has given you such ludicrous thoughts?”

She shook her head, still trying to do her best to keep her quiet tears secret. After a few deep breaths, she answered. “He brought on some new staff last year – something he never handles – and there was a woman among them that he would take along with the usual servants when he'd be spending the night away from home. She's pretty enough, I suppose.”

Teagan calmed, but kept his sigh of relief to himself. “That hardly sounds like an affair.”

“That is why I was not concerned until a few months ago.” Isolde turned her back completely to her guest, wiping her eyes discreetly before continuing. “She became heavier and I caught the other servants whispering that she was with child. Before I could confront the woman or look into the matter, Eamon had whisked her off to help prepare the winter estate – I did not even know we _had_ a winter estate!”

Those were indeed troubling notions, but Teagan was not convinced of his brother's infidelity. Eamon courted and married an Orlesian woman while the nation was still routing out the empire's agents from their lands. Eamon fell to the brink of death because of Isolde's secrets and mistakes – something that would have given him every right to abolish the marriage – but he stayed committed to Isolde. Teagan would be the first to admit the woman could be abrasive and that many men would lack the patience to deal with her moods, but his brother never complained.

“Even if this maid is with child and Eamon has taken her into hiding, that does not mean it is _his_ ,” Teagan said as calmly as he could. “There are any number of reasons why he would assist a young, single mother – highest on the list being that he is a kind and caring man.” He paused to let his words sink in, hoping they would ease Isolde's concerns. “It would not be the first bastard child he tried to help, either.”

She gave a halfhearted chuckle as she turned to face her guest, doubt still evident on her reddened face. “I've only been able to give him two children, Teagan, and we lost both.”

“Rowan is doing well in the Circle,” he countered softly. “I visited her myself just last month.”

Isolde finally dropped to the couch, exhausted and still obviously troubled. “Magic is too strong in my line and I can not give him a child he can rear to adulthood.” She closed her eyes to shut out the world. “Eamon has given up on me.”

–  
Alistair tried to stretch out the stiffness in his back as the final meeting on the roster ended and the chamber began to empty. The work day was actually far shorter than usual and he was looking forward to a long, hot bath to relax his muscles. When people told him being king would be difficult, they never mentioned how big a problem sitting would be.  
“If we could have a moment of your time?” Teagan's voice sounded from the doorway, causing Alistair to twist in his seat to see who _we_ entailed.

“My time is rarely _my time_ anymore,” the king chuckled and waved them in. “But for both of my sort-of-uncles to be wanting to speak with me off the books, this is either very good or very bad.”

Teagan offered a strained smile before turning to the pages collecting the piles of notes and books from the meeting. “Why don't you come back for those later.”

The pages looked to their king for his orders and Alistair dismissed them with a half shrug and nod to the door. Once alone, he rose to his feet and leaned back against the table. “So, bad then.”

“Very,” Teagan muttered, casting a tired and disappointed look at his brother.

Eamon would not meet either of their eyes, letting the tension build in the room as he tried to formulate the best way to begin. He had a plan originally, but Teagan's interference made that impossible now. “Alistair, you are aware of how vital it is that Ferelden has an heir of Theirin blood.”

The king straightened, expression tightening as he regarded the older men. “Don't tell me he's dragged you into this, too?”

“I swear I had no part in this scheme,” Teagan insisted vehemently, his obvious disapproval of whatever had occurred making Alistair more than a little apprehensive. “We came here as soon as I found out what he'd done.”

“That's rather foreboding,” Alistair mumbled, returning his focus to the elder brother. “And just what is it that you've done?”

“I had only the best interest of the country in mind,” Eamon prefaced calmly, pressing forward before Teagan could interject with his own opinion. “Since you would not budge, I was forced to take matters into my own hands.”

A strange twisting began to churn in Alistair's gut, the apprehension building with each passing second. “What does that mean?”

Eamon took a steadying breath, but remained unashamed. “I arranged for you to sire a child.”

“ _What_?!” Alistair shook his head, trying to unscramble the sudden tangle of emotions and questions racing through him and focus his thoughts enough to form a sentence. It took several minuets to do so, but neither brother interrupted. “I told you I wouldn't take a concubine, and you found one anyways? _Oh, the woman came all this way, so it would be rude to turn her down. Might as well go through with it._ ” He scoffed at the ridiculous plan. “Maker's Blood, Eamon, what made you think I would ever agree to that? When I said I wouldn't betray Kaedence, it wasn't because I was too lazy!”

He was met with silence again and the twisting in his stomach began to push towards nausea as he realized there was something he was missing.

“The child is already born, Alistair,” Teagan quietly explained, forcing the conversation along.

That gave the king a momentary sense of relief. Eamon had found a babe he believed could be passed as Alistair's own. The man had known him since before he could walk and surely this random child resembled the king enough to fool the public.

But Eamon was not one for subterfuge and he had always been adamant that the heir to the throne needed to have the blood of Calenhad running through its veins. It was impossible for Eamon to know about the dark ritual with Morrigan or how to find the witch, but for Alistair to have sired another child who was already in the world was just impossible. He hadn't even come close to being with anyone besides his wife since the horrid experience before the march to Denerim that ultimately saved their lives. It was only ever Kaedence, even in his-

His dreams.

The once recurring dreams that he hadn't had for many months.

The dreams where Kaedence never spoke and he always awoke naked in a pristinely made bed.

“They weren't dreams,” Alistair mumbled to himself, the reality and gravity slowly sinking in. The fake reunion only came on nights when Eamon stayed at the castle and took supper with him, sharing a wine that the older man brought himself and – now that Alistair thought back to it – never actually drank.

Alistair felt betrayed, used, and manipulated. He felt disgusted with himself. Most of all, he felt a murderous rage.

He pounced on Eamon with a roar, knocking the older man all the way to the stone floor and knocking over a chair in the process. His knuckles plowed repeatedly into the wrinkled face, causing tears in the flesh and bleeding in the layers beneath as the king wailed on his advisor. Alistair didn't care about the ruckus he was making or the gossip that would spring forth from the obvious beating Eamon was taking, all he could process was anger. Anger at Eamon, anger at himself, anger at the taint and the blasted Grey Wardens who doomed every person they recruited to the same fate.

“Alistair, please! Restrain yourself!” Teagan came up behind him, hooking his arms under the king's own in hopes of pulling him off the older man. “Eamon has done something terrible, but you're going to kill him!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alistair grunted, struggling to get his fists flying again. “Treason against his king – an execution by my own hand is in order!”

“You aren't in the proper frame of mind to pass that sort of judgment,” Teagan tried to say in a calming tone, only to be undermined by the strain in his voice. “He should be punished, but you have to take every factor into consideration.”

“What else is there to think about?” Alistair snapped, though his struggling died down. “Eamon betrayed my trust, drugged me, whored me out, and claims to have done it for the good of the Ferelden. Where is the merit in those actions?”

Teagan did not answer right away, knowing that there was no real defense. “His methods were flawed, but you must consider their result. You have a child now, Alistair, and its fate lies in your hands just as much as Eamon's does.” Teagan felt the fight leave his captive and slowly released his hold.

The three of them remained on the floor, Eamon's pained breathing the only sound passing between them for a long stretch of time. Finally, Alistair spoke in a very quiet voice. “Which is it?”

It took a moment for Teagan to understand the question. “A boy, Alistair. It's a boy.” Alistair pushed himself to his feet, trying to process the answer and its implications as he slowly made his way to the door. “Wait,” Teagan called after him, “what is to become of Eamon?”

A heavy, tired sigh was the initial response, Alistair having run the gambit of emotions and feeling more drained than he thought possible. “I'm not sure,” he mumbled. “For now, just lock him up somewhere out of my sight.”

 

\-----------------------------------------  
  


The official story was that the king had fallen ill and designated Teagan to handle matters during his temporary absence. More important meetings and audiences were pushed back, but the arl was able to deal with much of the more common and tedious issues and was respected enough to not have every decision questioned. For the nobles that were unsatisfied and demanded the king's opinion, Teagan calmly informed them that he would bring the matter forward and get back to them. In truth, Alistair wasn't in any frame of mind to be hearing the, comparatively, petty problems of his citizens.

His world had changed in a matter of minutes, and there was no way to change it back. One of his most trusted advisors had acted against his wishes and destroyed their relationship _for the good of the country_. The country was still unaware of such betrayal as Teagan had secured Eamon in guest quarters and quietly sent for discreet healers to deal with the wounds before they became infected. As angry at Eamon as Alistair was, he couldn't deny that he would have regretted killing him. Eamon had been kind and understanding once and Alistair owed him much. All of that goodwill was gone now, but a calmer Alistair couldn't sentence the man who cared for him in his early years to the headman's axe.

He couldn't forgive him either.

When Alistair's head wasn't hurting too much to think straight, he passed queries along with Teagan and the answers he got back only made the throbbing in his skull and the churning of his stomach worse. Eamon's scheme – because what else could it really be called? - was far more elaborate and thought out than Alistair originally feared it was. He hadn't simply been drugged into submission and then tricked into laying with a serving girl for the sake of producing a child, and Alistair wondered if all that time being married to an Orlesian had forced Eamon to learn their insufferable _Grand Game_.

Extensive research was done on fertility remedies and which could be combined safely with aphrodisiacs, hallucinogens, and wine – Eamon changing the concoction with each visit in hopes of producing results. It was always the same partner to keep the illusion and secret going and when Alistair asked what became of her after the child was born, all he got back was that she _had been taken care of_. Whether that meant she was paid off, shipped off somewhere, or killed, he didn't know, and frankly he wasn't sure he could stomach to. The woman had been carefully selected to resemble the queen as much as possible, because while an heir was important, it being passed off as a true heir was just as much so. That part made Alistair feel the worst.

Though he had been under the influence of Maker knows what, all it had taken was a body of similar build and the same haircut and he had given in. If he were truly an honorable man, if he truly deserved the love Kaedence had shown him, then he should have been able to spot the fake. Thinking on it, there were differences between the imposter and his wife, he was just too overtaken by his foggy lust to dwell on them. He chalked it up to being a dream at the time, but if he really cared for his love as much as he claimed to... Maker, how could he have been so weak?

What would Kaedence say when she returned? He had no excuse for what he'd done, nothing to say that could soften the betrayal. She was off working hard to find a cure for them so they could be together forever, and he hadn't been strong enough to resist a warm body he let himself believe was hers. Kaedence was always the strong one, the clever one, and he was feeling less and less like a worthy partner with each passing day.

The child – _his son_ – had been taken away from its mother the near instant it was born and given to a wet nurse. To help perpetuate the illusion Eamon was creating, he had been collecting the babe and passing it to a new wet nurse every few weeks with a slightly altered story. This muddled chain of custody would make it virtually impossible for anyone to connect the child to its true birth and Eamon had planned to inform Alistair about everything when the boy was old enough to make sea travel sound plausible. Eamon's ultimate goal was for the public to believe their queen had given birth abroad and sent the child ahead where it might be properly taken care of. Alistair bristled at the idea immediately, as people would be more likely to think Kaedence had been unfaithful to him since she hadn't stepped foot in Ferelden for years, but then he recalled all of the political excursions Eamon had insisted he take just days after the “dream” and realized that too had been part of the plan. If the king was out of the country, who's to say he hadn't rendezvoused with the queen and the trip had all been a smoke screen for their meeting?

So many things taken into account, so many variables considered, but there was one aspect of the scheme that Eamon had no control of: Alistair's reaction to the child itself. While he was powerless to reverse any of the things Eamon had done so far, it wasn't too late to keep the child away. No one would have to know about the babe, Alistair didn't have to claim him, and the child could grow up out of the public eye.

Grow up without knowing its father or mother.

Grow up feeling discarded and unloved.

Grow up alone.

Alistair had gone through much of that himself, with the added bonus of knowing who his father was, but being unable to ever connect with him. Seeing his father and half-brother have a relationship he never could and being called _bastard_ more often then his actual name had been heartbreaking and he couldn't figure out if not being told who he was would have been better or worse. Alistair hated his childhood. The one good thing in it had been far too brief to make up for all the bad, but the day that the good thing came back into his life had been one of the happiest he'd ever had. Kaedence had been a spark of light in his dark childhood and the sun itself in his life now, but the chances of something equally as fortunate happening for anyone else was beyond miniscule.

The question then became if Alistair could subject someone else to live as he had. But that was only part of the issue. Bringing the child into his life could be done in many ways; a secret that he kept under his roof, an acknowledged bastard, or the lie Eamon was hoping for. Hiding the child from the public would be far too close to his own rearing and a bastard, no matter how formally acknowledged or high-born, would always be treated with disdain. That left following through with Eamon's scheme and dragging Kaedence into the lie without knowing how she would react to it. Could Alistair do that to her? Could he really force a false child on her after all the struggling and heartache she endured in trying to have one of their own?

–  
In the end, Alistair realized this was too big of a decision to make from his chambers and arranged for his uncles and a small contingent of trusted guards to go with him to see the child. One thing he had been able to figure out was the punishment Eamon would endure and Teagan agreed it sounded fair. Exile would be too public a sentence and cause a stir among the populous, raising questions as to what the much beloved man could have done to warrant it, so – like so many other things in his life now – Alistair resigned to hiding the truth. Eamon would be forbidden from returning to Ferelden, but he would be carrying out his sentence as an ambassador stationed in Orlais. As far as foreign postings went, Orlais was rather nice to the casual observer until they realized that Eamon was a key figure in ending the Orlesian Occupation and had killed more than his fair share of mask-wearers. Grudges could run very deep in noble lines and life would not be easy for him there.

Additionally, it would have been unfair to punish Isolde for her husband's actions. It was only her own fear and insecurities that pushed Teagan to confront his brother at all and if she had been even a bit complicit in the scheme, she never would have done anything to expose it. She, too, was an accidental victim and it seemed only kind to bring her closer to her long absent friends and family.

 

Eamon had been moving the child closer and closer to Denerim with each wet nurse switch, staying near ports to help support his story, and the place he'd come to currently rest at was none other than Highever. This was Kaedence's ancestral home, where her world collapsed the first time, and to hide the evidence of Alistair's infidelity here made him feel as though they were doing the same thing again. Despite the numerous invitations her brother Fergus extended, Kaedence couldn't bring herself to come back to the sight of her family's slaughter just yet and now Alistair was certain she never would.

They arrived at a well kept inn a fair enough distance from the harbor to make it respectable and left the guard outside. Alistair, still uncertain of what he would do, kept his travel cloak tight and his cowl on, silently following Eamon as he lead the small group through the establishment. The king felt nervous – anxious – and feeling only got worse with each step that drew him closer to the room . He felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping his progress, and turned to regard Teagan.

“Let us wait here for a moment,” the arl said softly, directing them closer to the wall and positioning Alistair's back to the targeted door. Eamon knocked and entered the room, his deep voice conversing with an unfamiliar feminine one in a short exchange. A woman walked past the pair in the corridor without a hint or recognition or hesitance and after a brief pause to ensure she was gone, Teagan ushered Alistair forward again.

Eamon stood over a swaddled form resting in a woven basket on the bed, expression soft as he watched the child sleep. He turned to the others as they entered and closed the door, securing the space for speaking once again. “This is him,” Eamon introduced in a near whisper, unconsciously trying to not wake the babe. “All of the travel has had no ill effects – he remains healthy.”

Alistair crept closer to the bed, the nervous feeling threatening to overwhelm him as he peeked over the reed rim, expecting some maniacal looking figure wringing its hands. After all, the child had been created and exposed to so much subterfuge that surely it had picked up on and adopted the deceit as second nature. What he saw was nothing like that. There was just this soft, squishy looking being with puffy cheeks and dainty wisps of hair.

He pushed back his cowl and stopped just short of bumping his knees on the mattress, eyes fixed on the child that had caused him so much grief, yet was blameless of the entire mess. “Can I hold him?” Alistair asked without thinking in a voice he didn’t recognize as his own, surprised as the words left his mouth.

Eamon carefully picked up the bundled babe and laid him in Alistair's arms, adjusting his limbs to show him where to support. The child was so light, so frail, that Alistair feared both dropping and crushing him. “He's so tiny,” Alistair mumbled in concern. “That woman who passed us didn't exactly look young. What if her milk's spoiled and its making him sick? Are you sure he's really healthy?”

“Quite sure,” Eamon chuckled. “He looks just like you did at that age.”

“Really?” Alistair looked up briefly to check for any signs of deception, not that he'd be able to tell with Eamon any more, then back to the child. What faint hair it had did look sort of ginger, but everything else was so... _little_ that Alistair couldn't tell one way or another. In that moment, the child stirred and opened its mouth wide in silent yawn, blinking its bright eyes to stare into a matching set. “Oh,” Alistair started, completely caught off guard, “um, good morning. No, its past noon by now, uh, good afternoon?”

The child squirmed against the secure swaddling in an attempt to free its hands and Alistair could actually feel the ice that had encased his chest since Eamon came clean melt away and puddle his heart along with it. Part of him knew he should take more time to think, but the larger part that won out screamed that no matter how or why the child had come into the world, it was his. He felt it in the raised hairs on his skin and deep in his bones, saw it in the way the child was trying to reach for him. It didn't matter who the mother was, because he was the father, and there was no doubt about that. This was his child, his son, and he never wanted him to suffer as he had.

“We should write ahead so the castle can prepare for our return,” Alistair said suddenly, placing the babe back in the basket.

“Alistair?” Teagan gently prodded, uncertain what decision had been made.

“Because he'll need things, right?” The king picked up the basket in its entirety and looked around the small room for other items that seemed baby related. “Little guy can't sleep in this forever. He'll need a room set up and a wet nurse – like I said, I’m not so sure about the one he has now. And a nanny, but nannies are for later, aren't they?”

Eamon rubbed the back of his finger across the child's cheek, then lightly touched Alistair's shoulder. “I'll contact the next wet nurse I had on standby and dismiss the rest. I am sorry it had to be done this way, but-”

“It didn't, Eamon, but it is done.”

The older man nodded and left to do as he promised.

A few moments of quiet passed, broken up only by the random, soft noises of the babe. “So,” Teagan began, trying to keep the darker parts of the situation from muddling the one bright aspect. “Who shall I say is returning?”  
Alistair had no way of reaching his wife. She moved around too much during her quest and never gave instruction on how he might reply to her letters, but he could only hope she would understand he was not making a decision on what was best for saving face, but what was best for the child. None of them had asked for any of this, but the child was blameless and to be punished for being born was something far too cruel for either king or queen to condone. When Alistair could finally tell Kaedence about what happened – because he was most certainly going to tell her everything the very moment he was able – he would accept whatever punishment she dealt him for betraying her twice over and seeing Eamon's plan to completion. All he could do was hope she wouldn't hold anything against his son and maybe, just maybe, be able to accept the child as her own.

“Well, there's you and me and Eamon.” Alistair paused to adjust his hold on the basket just a little. “And his royal squishiness, Prince Duncan, son of Alistair and Kaedence Theirin.”

 


End file.
